The Beginning of Legends
by PirateJohn
Summary: In the First Age, our current age, Ellen senses a strange new energy source that she can't explain until a mysterious message tells her she is not alone.  But she discovers that finding others like her may be more dangerous than she ever thought possible.
1. Chapters 1 & 2

Chapter 1

Ellen sat quietly at her computer. The clickety-clack of her fingers on the keys and the faint baritone whirr of the tower were the only sounds to interrupt the silence. Occasionally, her phrenetic tapping on the keyboard would need to be interrupted as she referred to her books or performed an internet search.

This paper needed to be turned in the next day, and by golly, it was going to be a masterpiece.

Unfortunately for Ellen, though, the hypothalamus of her brain was all too aware of the time and began its conspiracy to prevent her from accomplishing her task. It manifested itself as the occasional eye droop that Ellen attempted increasingly in vain to ignore.

As she struggled to maintain consciousness, she noticed a curious sight on her screen. A small message box had appeared there. The customary _bing _that accompanies such messages had escaped her diminished attention.

_I know why you feel the way you do._

It was an odd message to receive, and was entirely unexpected, but it still hit close to home. Sure, she rationalized, all teenagers feel strange in some intangible, angst-riddled fashion. Nobody over thirty understands and all that jazz.

But what she felt was not the random, unfocused pining of a typical teenager. This she knew.

In fact, the reason she was still awake had not so much to do with wanting a perfect grade as it had to do with a secret she carried deep within.

She was terrified of sleep.

Months before, she had first noticed a strange sensation during that brief period of time between wakefulness and sleep. Initially, she dismissed the phenomenon as some odd aberration caused by a bad piece of pork or some television show. But it started happening on a more regular basis.

At the point where she allowed her thoughts of the day to disperse and started surrendering to sleep, she felt sensations that had once been merely odd, but were beginning to grow worrisome. They were not entirely unpleasant most of the time, but were growing increasingly intense. They were also extraordinarily difficult to describe.

At first, she felt something akin to a vague feeling of warmth that she quickly dismissed as being caused by a busted thermostat. She would wake up and reflexively throw off her bed sheets, even though it did little good. It was as though the heat came from inside her. Strangely, and most alarmingly, she discovered that she almost longed for that feeling. It was akin, she surmised, to the feeling of a drug craving - she knew she shouldn't want it, but the desire was overpowering at times.

The other thing that worried her was the presence - that was the only word she could think to describe it - that waited for her. As she started to fall asleep, something that seemed to emit light beckoned to her. A light that was not a light. Whatever it was, it was... alive. It... pulsed. It contained a tangible energy. A life force. An intelligence.

Ellen was terrified of it. And that was why she still sat awake in her room, ostensibly attempting to get a leg up in her classwork, but really trying to stave off the inevitable moment when sleep overcame her resistance. At least, she discovered, if she fought kicking and screaming against sleep, she didn't feel the odd sensatins nearly as strongly, even if she did have a nightmare or two.

In fact, it was during one of her most intense nightmares that the strangest thing of all had happened. When she woke up the next morning, all of the furniture in he room had been rearranged. It took a clever bit of explaining on her part when her mother had walked in to wake her and gaped wide-eyed at the mess.

And now there was the nondescript message that stared her in the face. It filled her with a mix of apprehension and hope, coupled with a healthy dose of caution. She had, of course, heard of a few too many cases of internet stalking cases that went horribly wrong. But she could not let the potential opportunity completely pass by, so she came up with the only response that made sense.

_Who r u?_

She was now very much awake. The surge of adrenaline caused by the mysterious message overcame any need for sleep.

_I know why you see a strange glow that nobody else sees. I am here to tell you that you do not need to fear it._

Ellen's hackles rose significantly. This was no random message. Someone out there knew her most closely guarded secret. She had not told anyone – had she? – about her strange feelings because she was afraid of being called a loony. Afraid she really was a loony.

She could do nothing but repeat her previous query.

_Who are you?_

She waited impatiently for the reply. As she looked down, she noticed her hands were shaking. She was sure, now, that the person at the other end really did know about her, but she was also still very apprehensive. It still, as far as she knew, could be anybody.

_Now you know that I am for real. I am afraid I cannot explain more here, but we know about you because you are not alone. Visit me at 323 Crestview Terrace and I will be able to explain more. We will be there tomorrow at 6:00 pm. I recommend you tell noone that you will be here. The world is not ready for us yet._

_Us?_ Who is _us?_ She tried to reply but whoever had sent her the message was already logged off. All she had left other than the creepy, cryptic, and yet prognostic messages was the screen name of the sender, "EyesInside." That, too, seemed prognostic. In fact, it was far more apropos than any description she had ever thought of before. It felt as if she could see inside herself.

And now she knew she was not the only person who could.

Chapter 2

Ellen could feel her heart racing as she walked up the driveway of the address she had been given. She pulled her jacket close to her as she strode up the walkway. The place, as far as she could see in the darkening sun, was an unremarkable house in a seemingly quiet neighborhood. She didn't see very many people milling about outside, which was not unusual given the chilly weather and late hour.

The overwhelming thought scampering about her head as she approached was: _what the hell am I doing here?_

Something lay on the other side of that door, and her psyche repeatedly blasted her with images of the worst possible scenarios. Was there some crazy guy in there who sent random cryptic messages to teenaged girls to try to snag one by chance? Was she going to be held prisoner? Raped? Murdered?

She couldn't remember exactly what the person had told her in his messages, but she did remember that, at the time, she thought he was too specific in his description of her for it to have been random. But now she was not so sure. Did he really say what she thought he said? Her mind scrambled to recall his exact words and was repeatedly distracted by thoughts of horror.

_I really should turn back now_, she thought. As the thought entered her head, she was suddenly bathed in light and jumped with fear. For a moment she felt as though all her fears were about to be realized as her eyes dazzled from the unexpected brightness. But after her panic subsided, she realized she had set off the motion-sensor porch lights. The night was still as calm as it had been.

She hesitated an instant more when she decided she was going to trust her instincts. She was about to turn and run, not walk, away from this house of horror when she heard a sound coming from the door. It was opening. She froze in place as the door swung open to what she was now certain was going to be her death. She was the deer and the hallway light emanating from the doorway was the headlights of the oncoming vehicle.

It seemed as though the door took forever to open. She was unable to breathe as her eyes widened at the emerging image of the person on the other side. When she did see him, she remained frozen. She was also very confused.

In the hours since her mysterious messages from the previous night, she had been forming mental images of the person who had sent them to her. They formed and reformed throughout the day until they settled on a middle-aged man with sun-darkened skin and a touch of gray in his otherwise black hair, along with a knowing smile and a baritone voice with an accent that was faint and difficult to place.

What she saw was a gawky, gangly fellow not much older than her who wore a pair of old jeans, a plain red tee shirt and unkempt curly black hair.

"Ellen, so glad you came!" The voice was a trifle squeaky and carried a tone of genuine friendliness, if not confidence. She imagined he probably got beaten up a rather lot in his younger days.

Her mouth, still dry, barely worked itself enough to form the word, "hi."

He looked down, still with a smile that now seemed more apologetic than friendly. "I don't blame you for being nervous. Truth is, it's hard for us to trust people with what we know. If I could have said more last night, I would have. Sorry about that."

"Who _are_ you?" was all she could think to say.

"I don't think I can put it in words, really. I can only promise it's going to be a very – interesting evening for you. Please, come in." He stood aside and raised a hand to gesture toward the inside. Ellen could see movement and noticed there were other people inside, though she couldn't make out any details. Her feet were still frozen to the asphalt as her brain screamed out to her that she should run as fast as she could. The man – no, the boy – standing at the door certainly didn't look threatening, but she knew nothing about who was inside, and had no desire to look closer. Not yet.

His hand dropped to his side and he looked embarrassed for a moment. "I'm sorry. I know you're scared." He could certainly see it in her eyes. "I haven't even introduced myself." He walked out from the door and Ellen tensed as he approached. She still could not make her feet move. "My name is Tom. Tom Devlin." She looked hesitantly at the hand he extended to her and was almost surprised that it was, indeed, a hand and not talons.

She slowly met his hand with hers. "Ellen Jefferson," she said weakly, though she slowly found herself becoming more at ease with the young fellow before her. She was only mildly startled when Tom convulsed with a quick shiver.

"Ugh, freezing out here. I can understand if you still don't want to come in, but I'll die of frostbite in my tee shirt, so if you don't mind." Tom quickly and clumsily ambled back toward the door with his arms huddled together.

Something beyond that door could be the answer to so many of Ellen's questions, she thought. She was taking a huge risk, she knew, but despite herself, she started walking toward the door.

After all, she _was_ cold.


	2. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Tom smiled graciously at Ellen as she hesitantly strode past him and into the house. She was in full alert mode when she entered, her senses were razor sharp due to the adrenaline coursing through her veins in torrents.

She scanned the room briefly, yet thoroughly, as she entered. She was relieved that the inside did not contain a room full of hulking men about to attack her. In fact, in most respects it seemed pretty normal. There was an interesting assortment of people, male and female, large, small, in between. They all wore welcoming smiles and stood as she entered.

The room was quite large, belying the size of the house as it appeared from the outside. There were fourteen people present, eight men and six women, all appearing roughly her own age, give or take about three years.

The place was almost immaculately neat, though somewhat spartan of decorations, save a few posters on the wall and a pot containing a conspicuously fake plant of some sort.

In the center of the room, among all the furniture including folding chairs arranged in a rough circle, was a large coffee table that had an assortment of soda cans, chips, and hors d'oeuvres. Soft music was playing through the radio. It seemed the only thing missing was a football game on the television.

As she made her introductions around the room, she felt her nervousness ebbing. It seemed a charming group of people thus far, though her guard did not drop completely. Her suspicions of being raped or murdered was replaced with a fear that she was being inducted by some sort of cult.

Despite her apprehension, she decided to give these people the benefit of the doubt, and accepted their welcomes at face value. For now.

She did, however, notice that the girls, at the periphery of her vision, were nodding their heads slightly and the boys were looking at the girls as if to silently communicate the questions that the girls were apparently answering. She also found it odd that when she was introduced to the girls, they started by looking her in the eye, then seemed to be looking around her searchingly.

A couple of girls, one appearing to be no older than about fourteen, parted slightly on the sofa to give room for her to sit. It was a tight squeeze, but she was able to make it okay. As she sat, one of the group offered her a soda, which she declined. She was not here for the company, but for answers.

Tom sat down more or less across from her and was the first to speak. "Again, I'm sorry about all the secrecy, but we do have to be careful. A lot of people don't know we exist yet."

Ellen shook her head vigorously. "Who is this we you keep talking about? Are you the leader of some sort of cult or something?" She felt a little ashamed that she had blurted out her suspicions so quickly, but she was growing weary of the evasiveness she had been encountering thus far. The group merely smiled abashedly at her frankness as much as her question.

One of the other members who had introduced himself as Cody spoke up first. "We're no cult and we have no leaders, exactly. We just happen to use this house because Tom, Breanna, and Kyle live here." Breanna was the girl sitting to her immediate right and Kyle was sitting in a folding chair to Ellen's left.

Kyle raised his hand to about chest level and spread his fingers in an imitation of a wave. "The three of us are students at the university." There was a small liberal arts university about a mile away.

"As for who we are," continued Cody, "that's going to take a long time to explain."

"The truth is," Breanna chimed in, "we're still not entirely sure who we are."

Ellen had not believed she could have been more confused than she was when she first entered the room, but she most certainly was.

Jessica, a girl a little younger than Ellen and who was sitting next to Tom, pulled herself a little closer to him so that the two of them were shoulder to shoulder. "Look at the two of us, Ellen. Look closely. Tell me what looks different about the two of us."

Ellen shrugged as she began, "he's wearing a tee shirt and –"

Jessica was already shaking her head. "No, no, not the obvious. Look closer."

"What am I looking for?"

"Just look. You'll know it when you see it."

It was an odd thing to say, but Ellen looked. And continued looking. She squinted as her eyes moved back and forth between the two. She compared their faces. She compared their clothes. Their feet. Their height. Everything she could think of. Minutes past and the room was silent. Twenty-eight eyes were focused intently on her, and nobody said a word. Only the gentle sound of the radio could be heard.

With an exasperated sigh, Ellen looked away from the pair and started shaking her head. "I just... I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for."

She expected to see looks of disappointment on the faces surrounding her, but all she saw when she looked up were sympathetic smiles. "It's okay," more than one person said.

Tom chimed in. "We'll explain everything – as much as we can – to you, but first we need to know what your experiences have been. Tell us about what you see and feel."

She explained as much as she could remember to them. She told them about her fear of sleep and the furniture moving unexpectedly. It was a great relief finally to be able to spill everything that she had been keeping bottled up for so long. And they not only believed her, but they understood.

She still had copious amounts of unanswered questions, but at least she felt better being able to unload. Many heads were nodding as she spoke, and when she was done, there was a brief silence as those assembled absorbed her words.

Tom was the first to break the silence. "Do you recall," he said searchingly, "about three years ago there was something on the news about an oil rig exploding on the coast of Sweden?"

Ellen didn't expect this sort of question and had no idea what it could possibly have to do with what was happening to her. "Not really," she admitted.

Tom nodded. "I'm not surprised. It was on the news for a little while but quickly went away. The company tried to hide something very important about the rig, and if the media ever found out the truth, they probably didn't report it because they had no idea what they were reporting."

Ellen hadn't believed it was possible, but she was even more confused now.

Breanna spoke up. "That was no oil rig." Everyone else in the room nodded knowingly. Ellen raised an eyebrow.

"I don't under–"

"You see," continued Breanna, "it was reported to the news that an oil company was drilling for oil in Sweden. It wasn't oil. They found some new source of energy. But they didn't know what it was. When they reached it, there was a huge explosion, but not fire. It was an explosion of light."

Light. The glow. That must be it, but Ellen still couldn't see the connection. "How... how do you know all this?"

Tom spoke again. "After that happened, some people in their teens started feeling strange sensations. They described it as seeing a glow."

"In Sweden?" Ellen asked.

"That's just it," Tom answered, "it was all over the world. Not many. Hundreds, perhaps, but they were the first."

Ellen couldn't resist the obvious question. "Were you one of the first, Tom?"

If he looked surprised at her frankness and insight, he didn't show it. "Yes, Ellen. I felt it the very next morning."


	3. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ellen needed a moment to soak in everything she had just heard. On the one hand, it was nice to know that she was not crazy, as she had feared she was. On the other, she still had as little idea of what was going on as she did when she first entered the house. "But what exactly was it that they found?"

"The truth is," Tom replied, "that we don't really know. All we know is that it was some sort of energy source."

Rhiannon, a slightly heavyset girl about Tom's age, spoke up next. "It never had anything to do with oil."

Kyle was the next to speak. "The oil companies never would have taken a gamble like this. There was never any oil seen or even suspected. But they did suspect a very powerful energy source. There's only one organization that would take that kind of risk."

"Are you saying the government is behind this?"

Kyle nodded slowly. "We don't know all the details because it was kept such a close secret. Lucky for us, one of the security guards at the site was one of those who was able to feel the sensations just minutes after the blast. Also lucky was that he wasn't working when the blast occurred or he might have died before he got the chance."

"He had been an Air Force policeman who was assigned to the site," said Tom. "What he was able to find out is that some brand new military weather satellite was launched and detected something centered right on the coast of Sweden that it couldn't account for. At first, they thought that some sort of geothermal energy source was interfering with the readings, but when they studied it further, they realized that whatever was causing their strange readings was far more powerful than anything they had ever seen before.

"So they approached a few oil companies until they found one willing to work with them. The oil company was given money to buy the land in Sweden and build what they needed. Had to pull a ton of strings to get that deal done, I'll tell you. That's what they needed the oil companies for, mostly – to hide the fact that the U.S. military wanted land in Sweden. The deal was so secret, even the name of it was classified. They called it 'Frost Tiger.' A lot of people would be in serious trouble if it got out that we even knew that name."

"Work with them?" Ellen asked. "What did they need to do?"

"Two things, really. One, they needed to pretend that they were drilling for oil and make a darn good show of it. But they weren't drilling for oil. Truth is, they had no idea what it was they were looking for, exactly. They spent months just surveying the land and taking different readings. The only thing they could all agree on was that something seriously weird was below the surface. It was like nothing they had ever heard of before, and whatever it was likely had the capacity to produce even more energy than nuclear power, if such a thing is even possible.

"The only thing they could think to do was the one thing they were really good at. They drilled. Whatever they hit, nobody knows, but a lot of people died when they hit it, and almost instantly several people around the world started seeing the glow we're talking about now."

"So they drilled right into the energy source, then?" asked Ellen. She was answered by a silence accompanied by everyone looking at each other searchingly. It was clear to her that she had asked a very difficult question.

Tom was the one to reply. "Not exactly." He searched for the words to say. "We're still not sure how to put this part, but it seems like this energy source doesn't... exist in our... um... exact... uh... universe."

Ellen's face went utterly blank. She couldn't bring herself out of her stupor enough to ask the obvious question. Fortunately for her, everyone in the room knew the question already.

"You see," Tom continued, "the energy source they thought was there was only... an echo. An echo of the real energy source." He shook his head. "I really wish I could describe it better. But whatever it was, the military saw it and the drilling rig hit it."

"And that's when there was the explosion," Ellen observed.

"Right," replied Tom. "It seems that whatever they hit opened up this... portal... and dumped a ton of energy into the rig. The explosion was the release of all this energy." Tom leaned in closer. "But that was only the tip of the iceberg. You see, the portal seems to have been opened up permanently, and now there are some of us who have access to whatever was in there. You are one of those people."

Jessica chuckled, "and the best part is that the military is still looking into what happened and they still have no idea that there's anything there other than a huge hole in the ground." She grew serious. "But Tom did go there."

Tom nodded. "I saw the area. I didn't get to go inside, of course. I was quite a distance away. But I could see it. Feel it, really. It was a glow so bright it was blinding. And nobody else, except for that security guard I told you about. He's the one who brought me over. This was, oh, a couple of months after it first happened and there were only a few of us who had found each other yet."

After a brief pause, Ellen asked, "so we're all here because we see some glow that was left over from some explosion, what did you say, three years ago?"

Jessica shook her head, but was smiling. "No. That's not why we're here. We're here because of what we can do with that glow."

Ellen saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and when she turned her head toward the coffee table, she gasped. A Coke can was starting to move by itself. Tom was holding his hand out toward the can, a look of intense concentration on his face. After a moment, the can raised from the table and was floating a few inches from it. After it had been hovering there for a moment, Tom's face relaxed and his hand lowered.

"Go ahead," Tom said, "check it out."

Ellen hesitantly reached toward the can, and when she tried to grasp it, her hand stopped about a half an inch away, as though she had come across an invisible barrier. There was nothing there that she could see, but she was simply unable to close her hand on the can. She could see the skin on her fingers flatten as though pressed up against glass, but there was no glass there.

She was too astonished to speak. All she could do was keep looking at what Tom had done. A couple of years before, she had seen a magician perform minor miracles, but each time there was an easy explanation, even if Ellen did not know what it was. If something was levitating, then clearly there must be an unseen string holding the object in the air. But this defied any logical explanation.

"That's impossible," she finally muttered. "How...?"

Tom had been looking at her intently, but his face softened. "Ellen," he said calmly, "you have already done this yourself."

Her eyes shot up to meet his.

"You told us that you woke up to find your bedroom furniture rearranged. You did that yourself. Of course, you didn't know that you were doing it at the time, but you did that exactly the same way I'm holding up this can." He looked back at the can and it fell back to the table with a thud.

"Now watch me," Breanna said. After a few seconds, the can raised off the table again.

Ellen looked at the can intently. Something looked somehow different this time, but Ellen couldn't quite place it. Minutes seemed to go by as she continued staring at the can, silently as nobody in the room said a word, or even seemed to be breathing. All eyes were focused on her as she studied the can.

Finally, she spoke up. "I see something," she said almost breathlessly. "It looks like..." She turned to look at Breanna, who wore an expectant expression, and her eyes shot open. She saw a glow around Breanna this time. It was a bright nimbus of light. It must have been surrounding Jessica earlier when she sat next to Tom. Ellen wondered how on earth she could have missed it before.

"I... I see a glow around you."

Her revelation was greeted with a chorus of smiles and laughter.


	4. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"So," Ellen said to Tom, "we can move things with our minds or something?"

"Oh, Ellen, we can do so much more than that. We're learning more and more every day of the things we can do." His face turned grim. "We also learned the dangers of what we can do, too. You have to be careful until you are taught how to control it. We have lost more than a few members who got careless."

Ellen looked deeply into Tom's eyes. "But you will teach me, right?"

Tom shook his head. "I cannot. For some reason it's different for men and women, but any of the girls in this room can teach you. At least enough to get you started."

Jessica nodded vigorously enough to get Ellen's attention and make her turn to look at her. "From what we've seen of you, we think you might even be the strongest one we've ever seen."

She turned back to Breanna, who was still holding the can. "Teach me how to do what you're doing," she said almost breathlessly. "I want to learn everything."

Breanna let the can drop back to the table. It fell over as it landed, and Tom barely caught it before it started to spill. Fortunately, only a few drops landed on the glass surface of the table, and Tom wiped it off with a napkin. He didn't look even mildly upset, nor Breanna apologetic. It seemed to Ellen that this sort of thing was commonplace, which in fact it was. Countless attempts at fumbling their way while learning how to use and control the new energy had created a fair amount of havoc, and on one occasion, a repairman had given Tom some very quizzical looks before beginning a repair job he would never forget.

Breanna looked at Ellen sternly. "Your first lesson is to get rid of that idea. You want to learn everything but you don't even know what 'everything' is yet. None of us do, either. And Tom was not kidding, either, when he said we'd lost members. He didn't mean 'lost' as in they quit. They died. They died because they let way too much energy surge through them, and they basically burned from the inside.

"When you start learning how to access this energy, it's going to feel like some powerful drug. It's going to call you and you're going to have all you can do to keep from wanting to drink it all in. The ones we've lost are the ones who didn't learn how to sip."

Ellen nodded vigorously to show that she did understand and would be careful, but the warnings still did nothing to abate her eagerness. She turned back to Jessica, "what did you mean, 'strongest?'"

"We mean you can handle more than any of us can. That's how we found you. Breanna over there was the first one to spot you, since she lives the closest to you. She could sense it in you the first time she saw you, three months ago."

"Wait, you've been following me?"

"Not really following," Breanna said. "But I did make sure to find out who you were and to know we could trust you. You can understand we're trying to keep this all as secret as possible. If anyone knew we existed, we could be in serious trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

Kyle was the one to respond. "The military is still calling this whole explosion thing 'Top Secret.' They know that there was something important there, but they still haven't clued out what it all is. If they knew what we all know, we could be brought into one of those rooms, ya know?"

Cody broke the tension by standing up and saying, "I say we put off too much talk of that stuff and get our new member started with some training, yeah?"

Nods rippled across the room as everyone stood up. Ellen was motioned to follow the girls into another room. While there, all six of them started teaching her in turn.

Ellen was surprised at how unbelievably banal the initial instruction was. They spent much of the time telling them about what they knew of the energy itself. Like Tom said, it was different for men and women, though they didn't know why. The nearest anyone could figure was that there were, in fact, two different energy sources and one could only be sensed by women and one could only be sensed by men. That was why Ellen could only see the glow around the girls in the room.

They spent the rest of the time teaching her how simply to sense the energy. There would be no lifting of cans today.

"You have to be really calm," said Madison, a quiet, plump girl of about sixteen who had a rather bad case of acne. Despite her humble and gentle nature, she still managed to exude a very likable quality.

"Yeah, that's probably why you only sensed it when you were falling asleep. That's when you're most calm." Jenn, a tall, skinny girl wearing a tie-dye shirt with a white peace symbol on the front, had chimed in. She hadn't said much thus far, either.

Ellen was then made to sit as relaxed as possible in a soft chair while those around her tried guiding her through various meditation and focusing drills. _Count to ten. Focus on this tennis ball. Breathe deep. Hum._ None of them seemed to work very well, though, and after about a half hour, she was quite discouraged.

"It's quite all right," Breanna said softly. "Most of us took a while to get through this part. It's the hardest part, for sure. Maybe we just need to try some other night."

Ellen was about to protest, but when she glanced at the clock, she realized it was getting late. She had told her parents that she was out with a friend to the mall and that she'd be back before ten, and it was already 9:49. "Yeah, I suppose I should be going or my dad will kill me."

With that, they all walked back toward the main room where the boys had been practicing and experimenting with various tricks of their own. After a round of good-byes, during which it was clear that Ellen was not the only one leaving, Tom said, "I'm glad you came. So… what did you think?"

Ellen paused while she looked about the roomful of what only four hours ago were total strangers but who she now considered to be among her closest friends. "I think I'll be back," she finally said with a broad smile. Fourteen smiles echoed hers as she slowly, almost reluctantly, turned to head out the door and to her car.

As she sat in her car, she stopped for a moment to think of all that had just happened this evening. She had been on the verge of a panic attack the last time she sat in this car, and now only a few hours plus a lifetime later, she felt an enormous sense of relief. She may not have gotten all the answers, but she got enough.

She drove home with a wide grin on her face, not once noticing the car that followed her.


	5. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sergeant Comiskey noticed through the front window that the party was starting to break up and waited patiently for his target to emerge. Sergeant Comiskey wasn't his real name, of course, as he hardly ever used that. He wasn't a sergeant, either, though he had endured several years of training that would make the bravest military grunt weep. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure what his real name was anymore. He had far more important things to think about.

He wasn't all that sure what the name of his Target was, either. It had been provided to him, but he didn't need it. He could look it up if he had to.

Comiskey was, to put it as simply as possible, a freelancer. He was paid to get results, whatever those might be, and not concern himself with why anyone wanted those results or who, even, those people might be.

The results might or might not be legal, but that didn't bother Comiskey. Morals were for those too weak to do what they needed to; an excuse to chicken out of doing something just because it might be difficult or dangerous.

Comiskey wasn't a thrill seeker, really. Danger was just a part of his job, and if he might die as a result, well, that was a fate that awaited everyone. Some people just had an overdeveloped sense of denial regarding the subject.

He did his job well primarily because he just didn't see a purpose in any of it. That attitude gave him an awful lot of flexibility.

Tonight, his job was simple. He needed to sit and wait for his target, follow her home, then go home and research as much as he could about her. She was chosen as the target for two reasons. First, because the organization, as far as he could tell thus far, had been placing special interest in her, more so than they had other new recruits. Clearly, she had some sort of specialized skill that would make her rise quickly in the infrastructure. The second reason was that she, as a new recruit, would be the least affected by any brainwashing techniques the organization might have used thus far.

Tomorrow is when the difficult part of the job would begin. Not dangerous, exactly, but surgical. Tomorrow would be the day to put his knowledge about his target, whatever her name, into use. His mission would be to take her into custody – he was given a badge for that – and question her regarding her activities into this house. But most importantly, he had to convince her that he was on her side. Ultimately, he was told, he would have to learn as much as he could about the organization that had a node in that house.

His assumption was that the government was looking into some sort of terrorist organization. Even if they weren't, that would make an acceptable cover to explain why he was questioning her. He had already tossed around a few plausible-sounding ideas, but would wait until he learned more about her before he decided on his tactics.

Once, he had considered simply bugging the house – he was wise enough to understand that the simplest solution was usually the best – but quickly realized that doing so would backfire. The leader of the organization was very much a technical nerd, and as such had built some very clever contraptions to counteract bugging. He performed bug sweeps daily and before and after every meeting, and maintained discreet video surveillance constantly.

He was also a software genius, and though Comiskey was no software expert, he knew enough to tell that breaking the codes that the organization created would be no small feat.

A smart foe is a worthy foe, and a smart, paranoid foe is a nearly impregnable foe. Lesser people in his position tended to underestimate their opponents, and ultimately had short careers. Comiskey relished the challenge.

The door opened and the first to emerge was his target. He could tell immediately that it was her as soon as the porch light turned on. She was smiling brightly as she emerged. It was a look of genuine joy; clearly not the look of someone emerging from a meeting of terrorists. Comiskey was going to have to work on a new angle. Cult? Maybe. There was time to work it out. Fortunately, he didn't sleep much, so he had a long time indeed.

As she got in her car, he waited for her to start the engine and drive a little ways off before he started his own engine, careful to synchronize the sound of his engine to that of at least one of the departing attendees. Fortunately for him, his target didn't start her car right away, so he was able to get his car moving without raising any suspicion and before her car got too far away.

He didn't know if his target was keeping an eye out for potential tails, so he was careful about not following too closely. He had already studied the shortest route to her house, so he assumed she would take the same route and would therefore have a good idea how to catch up if he got too far behind. Still, he maintained ready for surprises. They tended to happen at the worst possible time.

As it turned out, she took a route that was not very dissimilar from the one he had planned. Clearly, therefore, she had never noticed him following.

As she pulled into her driveway, Comiskey slowed his car and turned off his headlights, creeping closer as she emerged from her car. He paid close attention to any detail he could discern during her walk to the door. He had picked up a few important pieces of information already during the trip. The most important was that she either had not yet been told or didn't fully appreciate the gravity of her situation and that people like him might be out looking for her.

Learning how to gather intelligence from facts that others might dismiss as minutiae was a skill of which Comiskey had learned the vital importance years ago.


	6. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Saturday morning, as Ellen suited up for her weekly run, was an unseasonably warm one. Ellen almost decided to wear shorts for her weekly long-distance run, but thought better of it. It was warm enough to melt the remnants of snow still scattered around the ground, but not quite warm enough yet to justify baring too much skin.

After her usual warm up and stretch indoors, she walked outside and breathed in the crisp suburban morning air. It was 6:45 and the sun wasn't quite above the horizon yet, so the sky was filled with an eerie gradient of gold to blue to darkness for its daily herald of the morning.

She had planned out her route for the day. She had originally planned for an easy day – about nine miles – but when she saw the forecast for the day and saw how warm it would be, she decided to go for a longer run of about fourteen miles. One day, she kept dreaming, she would run in the Boston Marathon. She had run a couple of local half-marathons, but never tried a full one yet.

After a short bit of running in place while she put on her headphones and adjusted her iPod for the two-hour-long mix she had created for her long runs, she trotted off into the twilight.

Sergeant Comiskey, of course, knew that she would be outside at the crack of dawn. He had done his homework. Ellen Jefferson. He knew the name now after having spent the better part of the night memorizing pertinent information from the folder he had created on her and the group she visited. He had his routine all planned out. He had to convince her that he was a police investigator gathering information on a cult that she had unwittingly stumbled upon.

Plans, of course, could change instantly, and Comiskey had backups to his backup plans at the ready in case his initial plan didn't work. And if all that failed, well, he was a master of improv – a necessary skill in his field.

He watched her run down the street that curved slightly toward its end. He would wait for her to turn the corner before starting up his car. If he pursued too early, she could easily run home and wake her parents, which could screw things up catastrophically. He had to isolate her.

Fortunately for him, he could faintly see in the crepuscular haze of morning that Ellen had donned a bright pink sweatshirt for her run, which would make her easy to track if she unexpectedly turned down a side street. Comiskey was well aware that she varied her running routes weekly, likely to change her scenery from week to week, even though, to him, suburbia was suburbia no matter what route you took.

What could also complicate his search if he waited too long was that the streets, like most residential streets in Massachusetts, didn't follow any predictable patterns. They could twist and turn like so much spaghetti and Ellen could disappear down any path, pink sweatshirt or no.

He casually started up his car and drove off in her direction, getting to the bend just in time to see her turn to her right as she reached the end of her street. As always, his timing had been flawless.

He pulled his car to the curb about seventy yards in front of where she was and casually got out of his car. As he walked around to the front of his car and onto the sidewalk, he pulled out the badge that had been provided to him by his employer. It was high quality, too. It would fool any veteran police officer anywhere, further convincing him that he was working for a government agency of some sort.

He had tried finding a decent private manufacturer of police badges and although some of them were very skilled, there were always minutiae that he could find that someone knowledgeable about police work would possibly notice. Winding up in jail for impersonating a police officer would be a rather large setback in his work, especially when they discovered that no such person as Comiskey, or any other name associated with him, existed. His employers, be they government or otherwise, would not dare step forward to vouch for him. He was expendable, and if someone employed him, it was precisely because they had no desire to be associated with what he was doing.

Even the president never had any idea of the things he probably had done in the government's name. Politicians liked to be left in the dark about anything requiring dirty work, regardless of how necessary it might be, and when they did find out, they feigned outrage as though to convince the voters whose asses they kissed that they were above such nonsense.

Comiskey was accustomed to seeing his handiwork become the subject of an "investigation" that never took place and that existed solely for the purpose of smearing some political enemy or another. Not that he cared.

As Ellen approached, Comiskey confidently stood blocking her path and exposing his badge. She almost paid him no mind until she realized he was definitely there for her. She stopped warily, carefully inspecting his badge and the picture on it to make sure it was him. She didn't have an ultraviolet light source on her person, but if she had, the badge would have passed with flying colors.

"Hello, Ms. Jefferson," Comiskey politely greeted. "I was wondering if you had a few minutes."

He sure seemed police-y. It was like watching a cop show starring her. "For what?" she replied simply and with no hint of emotion despite the onset of queasiness in her stomach.

"I understand that you visited a house last night at Crestview Terrace. I need to ask about the people you met there."

Her emotions slipping out, she cautiously answered, "I think I need an attorney first." Her blood started rushing to her head and she felt dizzy, yet very alert. It was like watching a dream.

"You really only need an attorney if you're who we're investigating," Comiskey replied. Not exactly a lie, but the last thing he needed was an attorney in the room. Although Ellen seemed intelligent and astute, Comiskey was gambling a little that her knowledge of civics wasn't as polished as some others might be. "We're asking questions regarding the activities of Mr. Thomas Devlin. He was at the house, correct?"

Although Ellen did not reply, the answer to that question was written clearly upon her expression. Comiskey decided that the only move for him now was to take an even bigger gamble. "We have reason to believe you're being indoctrinated into a very powerful and very dangerous cult."

Suddenly, memories flashed through Ellen's mind of her demanding to know whether Tom was the leader of a cult. It didn't make any sense, though. It couldn't be so.


	7. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

A few days before, Comiskey had been able to arrange an interview room that looked convincingly like one an investigator might use. It was a small office in a business complex, and Comiskey's office was situated between a dentist's office and an accountant. He had even managed to add a magnetic card reader as an extra touch. It would never pass for a police station, but it did pose nicely as a small, subcontracted office area.

It was also easy to explain to Ellen why nobody was working at the reception area, since it was Saturday. He had placed a broken computer and some random papers on the front desk to make it look like someone worked there, as well as some family pictures he had downloaded off the internet put in some cheap frames he found at Target. More detail wasn't necessary, since the desk wouldn't be inspected closely.

They walked directly to the inconspicuous room containing two chairs and one table. After he held the door open and ushered Ellen inside, he waved at an empty, yet lit, office and said with a smile, "oh, hey, Dave! Ah, can I talk to you later?" He pointed inside to indicate he would be busy interviewing Ellen, then nodded. He had found that it helped put interviewees at ease if they thought they weren't alone.

As they sat down, it was obvious that Ellen was still very skeptical of the entire production. Comiskey, of course, was fully prepared for this and was not at all put off at having to earn her trust. There was an art to earning the trust of someone who was repulsed by you, and Comiskey considered himself a connoisseur of art. It motivated him far more than the money, otherwise he would have retired years ago.

"Soooooo, where shall we begin?" Comiskey said conversationally. "You went to a party at a house we are closely watching for cult activity. In fact, we have been watching them for months." He had learned from his employer that the activities he was tracking had been going on for a few years, so to play it safe he said "months." If he had said he had been knowing what was going on right from the start, Ellen might wonder why they hadn't caught on to what was happening yet. He'd make her think that bureaucracies were just plain slow. Well, they were.

She didn't respond right away, and Comiskey patiently waited. He raised his eyebrows a trifle as though in anticipation of what he knew she would say.

Ellen finally broke. "It was nothing, really. Just some friends hanging out and stuff."

Comiskey smiled avuncularly. "Just some friends," he echoed. "Where did you meet these friends?"

Ellen replied hesitantly, "online."

"Yes," replied Comiskey. "I guessed as much." Actually, he had had no idea of the fact. But best to let her think he knew more than he did. The only reason he had singled her out at all was because he had never seen her before the previous night and correctly assumed it was her first time meeting the group. "Many cults try recruiting online. Heaven's Gate even had professional web developers among their members before they all committed mass suicide back in the 90's," he said with a chuckle that Ellen had no way of knowing was completely rehearsed.

That Ellen had no idea who or what Heaven's Gate was made no difference to Comiskey.

"So tell me," he continued, "what happened when you went inside?"

"It was just a party," she said. "That's it."

Comiskey tilted his chin downward, clearly communicating that he knew she was lying. "Let's backtrack a little bit. How did you meet them online?"

"He messaged me. He seemed really nice. That's pretty much it."

"'He' being Tom?"

"Yeah."

Comiskey paused for a moment as he looked down to the table as though to gather his thoughts. "You understand I'm trying to protect you from a very dangerous cult. These people are serious. They've been tied in with five deaths," he lied, but Ellen clearly bought it. At least, she bought it enough to cast some doubt on what she believed, and that was enough. The weakness of so many people was their instinct of self-preservation.

"How about we start by you telling me everything you remember about the first moment you walked in the door?"

Ellen was silent for a time, but Comiskey did not want to be the first to speak. He had her hooked and knew that at least some part deep down inside of her wanted to spill. It just needed a few moments to germinate, assisted by the uncomfortable silence.

After a few minutes during which Ellen grew increasingly agitated and decreasingly able to hide her agitation, she proved Comiskey's theory correct. "It wasn't anything special." He continued in his silence, merely looking upon her flatly. "They had told me that they knew how I felt, and I wanted some answers."

"What do you mean? What, exactly, had they said?"

"Well, he sent me a message online."

"He being Tom Devlin?"

"Yeah, and he said… I'm trying to remember." Comiskey sat silently, allowing her to compile her thoughts. "He said something about knowing why I felt the way I did, and, well, he described a lot of things I've been feeling lately. I mean, how could he have known that about me?"

Comiskey nodded in commiseration. "Have you ever heard of the Forer effect?"

Ellen froze in a moment of cognitive dissonance, clearly never having expected that sort of response.

"I thought not. It's one way a lot of people are able to trick people into believing they're psychics. You see, they speak in very general terms but in ways that sound like they're being specific. It's like saying 'you are able to communicate with people easily, but sometimes lack confidence in your speech.' That sounds very specific, but it accurately describes most people, especially those who are predisposed to believing that the other person is legit."

"But he _was_ specific," exclaimed Ellen. "He said that he knew about a… a 'glow' I see."

"And what would have happened had you not thought you saw a glow. A lot of people see things that they could describe as a 'glow.' They see strange lights that turn out to be their car headlights reflecting off of power lines and think that UFO's are invading. And if you hadn't thought you had seen that, he would have just moved down the line until he found someone who did." He didn't bother inquiring about what "glow" meant. It really didn't matter so much anymore, as Comiskey was convinced now that he really was dealing with a cult.

He was disappointed. It was far more fun to have too resort too lying to people to get what he needed. "So, what did they say when you walked in the door."

"Well," said Ellen, clearly becoming more comfortable speaking. Not so much comfortable with him, personally, but she had doubt in her mind now. The last forty-eight hours of her life had been so… confusing. She just wanted it all to make sense. "I asked them what was going on, and… they wanted me to say what my experiences were, so I told them."

"hmm, another common tactic of psychics." Ellen lowered her eyebrows in confusion. "They have you tell them everything , then when they answer any questions, they just parrot what you already told them."

"But they didn't just do that. I mean, they did some weird stuff, and told me that I could do it, too."

"What kind of weird stuff?"

"Well, Tom made a Coke can lift right off the table. I mean, I just reached right out and, it was just hovering there on its own!"

Comiskey leaned in closer. "Oh, come on, you've never been to a magic show?"

"Well, yeah, but this wasn't like that."

"Ever heard of James Hydrick?"

"Who?"

"How about Uri Geller?"

"Um, I think so. He, like, bends spoons, right?"

"Yeah, that's right," Comiskey affirmed with a smile. "Hydrick was like that, tooo, except he didn't bend spoons. Here, watch." He put the pen he had been using on the edge of the table so it was halfway off of the table. After putting his ledger down, he stared at the pen in concentration and held his hands opened on either side of the pen, about a foot away each.

Suddenly, to Ellen's surprise, the pen spun on the table and fell off the edge. She suddenly lurched back in surprise, then looked at Comiskey quizzically.

"Seriously, he formed a whole cult just by doing little things like that." He noticed her querying look and responded. "It's very easy to do. All I did was blow on the table right here." He pointed to a spot that was a few inches away from where the pen had been. "Try it."

He leaned over and balanced the pen on her side of the table. She looked down in confusion, but after a moment leaned a bit forward and gently blew on the table about where, in relation to the pen, he had pointed. After a moment, the pen spun quickly and flew off the table so fast that she almost didn't catch it before it fell to the floor.

"Now tell me," asked Comiskey, "were you able to lift a can off of the table?"

"Well… no."

"I thought not. I also assume they were really nice to you and accepted you right away into their group. I assume you didn't know anyone before you walked in."

"Yeah," she replied, "that's right."

Score!

She was clearly sold by now. All he had to do was the final pitch.

"Well, if we're going to bring these guys down, you'll need to help me." Ellen nodded unconsciously. "First, you cannot contact any of the members of the group unless you tell me first. Got it? That's very important."

Ellen nodded again.

"Okay, secondly, this guy is going to try contacting you again. If he does, call me immediately so we can track your conversation." Well, he was going to monitor all of her online conversations from now on, but he had to make it look good. And he definitely didn't want her blabbing to Tom that she knew what he was up to.

"And thirdly, tell no one at all about our discussion here. Not even your parents. Anyone you tell might be in danger."

After a few moments of thanking her for her time and cautioning her again about the importance of his instructions, he took her back outside and drove off with her, dropping her off about a mile from her home so she could run back and have at least a little bit of an opportunity to break a sweat so her parents wouldn't be suspicious.

She ran home in a virtual daze and never bothered to shower before heading to her bedroom and immediately turning on her computer.


	8. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Despite Comiskey's warning, Ellen just had to get a hold of Tom. She was too confused. She needed confirmation. She thought she had found the answers to all of her questions, and after her conversation with Comiskey, she felt… dirty. Used.

However, as she turned on her computer, she saw that Tom wasn't online, and in the whirlwind of questions and answers from the night before, it simply had never occurred to her to get anyone's phone number, or even e-mail address. Maybe the cult had put the idea into her head that she didn't want their numbers?

No, no, that couldn't be. _Stop thinking nonsense, Ellen._

The knock on her door nearly made her upend her chair as the door opened to the sight of her mother, who suddenly wore a look of deep concern.

"Are you okay, honey?"

"Uh, yeah! Sorry, you, ah, you just scared me a bit."

"Oh, sorry about that." The look of concern abated but didn't disappear completely. "How was your run? You don't look very sweaty."

"Oh, it was good. Yeah, I didn't sweat that much. You know, it's cold out." She pulled her arms close to her chest in a mock shiver. "I still need a shower, though." Without another word, she got up and headed for the bathroom door, too much in a daze to remember bringing a change of clothes with her.

She undressed without thinking and stood in the falling water for almost ten minutes before realizing that she needed to do something more constructive than merely standing there. She washed the insignificant amount of sweat off of her body without paying much attention to what she was doing, then got out of the shower. Her mind was still racing as she toweled off.

_What is really going on? Who is this Comiskey guy? Who is Tom, really? What do they want from me?_ She wasn't really sure who the "they" in that final question referred to.

Still wearing only a towel, she headed to her bedroom and checked the computer again. This time, EyesInside, aka Tom, was logged on. She didn't bother with getting dressed before she started typing. She leaned over her keyboard, typing furiously as her hair dripped water over the keyboard.

_What did u do to me last night?_

There was a long pause as Ellen waited impatiently for Tom's reply. What came was not in the least what she expected.

_I'm going to send you a file. Install it and we'll chat on there._

She then saw the file. was its name, and she was very reluctant to run it.

_What is it?_

_Just run it. I can't talk here right now. Trust me._

Against her better judgment, she opened the program and it spent about thirty seconds installing, then opened up in what looked like an ordinary chat window. Moments later a message popped up in it, ostensibly from Tom.

_Did it work?_

_Yes. What is going on?_

After Ellen typed the message and pressed the send button, she noticed it took several seconds for the message to send.

_I just sent you a chat program I wrote. It uses 8k encryption. Takes forever to send a message but there's no way anyone will be able to listen in._

Ellen began to tell the story of the morning's events, intending to segue into a full, detailed account of how Sergeant Comiskey had told her about Tom's cultish behavior. However, as soon as she mentioned she had been questioned by police and before she could type much further, Tom's reply came.

_You have to get out of the house as quickly as possible. Your life is in danger. No time to explain. Meet me at my house as fast as you can._

Ellen blinked. Was he serious? He sure sounded so. She froze in her chair, unsure what to do. Before she could type a reply, she noticed that Tom had logged off.

The last forty-eight hours had certainly been eventful. There was no doubt about that. She still wasn't sure whom to believe, but Tom had seemed quite adamant about her life being in danger. If nothing else, it wouldn't hurt to leave the house again for an hour or two to see if things would cool off.

Without rushing, she grabbed her car keys and headed downstairs where her mother was making lunch for herself in the kitchen. "Oh, hi honey. You must be hungry. Want some chicken salad I was making?"

"Oh, ah, no thanks mom," Ellen replied. "I was actually going to head to the mall with Jill." She hoped the mall excuse wasn't wearing itself too thin. She had already used it only two days before to head to Tom's place. In fact, this time she figured she might actually call some friends, go to the mall, and pretend that the last three days had never happened.

Fortunately for her, though, her mother only nodded. "How long do you think you'll be?"

"Oh, I dunno. We'll probably eat there and maybe catch a movie." Even though it was late February and there was very little of interest playing, she thought she could use the diversion.

"Okay, honey. Be back in time for dinner, though." Her mother walked over while holding the sandwich she had made and kissed Ellen lightly on the cheek.

Ellen smiled, trying to mask the uncertainty she was feeling. If her mother sensed the strangeness of Ellen's recent behavior, she made no comment. Ellen wasn't sure whether to be relieved by that, since part of her wanted nothing more than to spill everything to somebody, _any_body. The only thing preventing her from doing so was the fear that nobody would believe her. Heck, she didn't think she'd believe herself.

She walked out to her car and started it up and, barely able to concentrate on her driving, managed to pull out of the driveway. She drove down to the nearest street light, about two hundred yards away. A left turn would take her to the mall and a right turn would take her to Tom's house. She hadn't picked a lane when she glanced at her rearview mirror and noticed a car that looked very much like the one Comiskey had driven pull up in front of her house. She looked back at the road just in time to avoid rear-ending a car that had stopped at the red light.

While waiting – still undecided on which direction to turn – for the light to turn green, she continued looking at the rearview mirror. Comiskey, fortunately, did not glance in her direction, though somehow she knew that he sensed she had already left. She even had the sneaking suspicion he could read her license plate from that far away. As ridiculous a thought as it was, he had a definite air of omnipotence that made her uncomfortable.

As she watched Comiskey walk to the door, her heart pounded in her chest loud enough that if the radio had been on. There was only one way she could know what was happening. She took out her cell phone and called her parents.

Her mother picked up. "Hi, honey. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." The problem with Ellen's plan, however, is that she hadn't quite devised what she was going to say when the phone was answered. She decided in a snap that the best course of action would be the simple truth. "I saw someone pull up when I left. Who is that?"

"Huh?" her mother said just as the doorbell rang and Ellen's father answered the door. "Oh, I didn't even hear him."

Ellen kept looking in her mirror until she realized the light had already turned green and the car in front of her was long gone. But before she could drive off, the phone call was interrupted with the sounds of loud popping over the phone. "Mom? Mom? Are you there? MOM!"

It was no use. There was no more sound on the other end of the phone. Frantically, Ellen dropped the phone and made up her mind to head to Tom's house as fast as she could. He was right. Her life was in danger, and even if she wasn't sure she could trust him, she now knew for certain that she could not trust Comiskey.

She made the turn and squealed rubber as she accelerated down the road.


End file.
